


What Friends Are For

by hermitknut



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Polyamory, even if they have to do it in weird awkward human ways, wolves look after the pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitknut/pseuds/hermitknut
Summary: In which Angua notices something about her commander and a certain local tyrant, and considers the responsibilities of friendship.
Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes, sybil ramkin/samuel vimes (background)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 131





	What Friends Are For

They were, of course, extremely discreet. There were no public-private glances, no slightly-too-lingering touches, no poor excuses to spend time together. No change, in fact, from their behaviour up to this point. But even someone like Vetinari had neglected, as most humans do, to account for smell.

Commander Vimes had been on his way back from a late meeting with the Patrician, and Angua had met him outside the palace. It was nearly full moon, and her senses were sharp even in human form. And there it was – the cool, almost dry scent of the Patrician, overlaying the Commander’s normal smoke-sweat-leather smell by a tiny increment. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time; but when she looked back, she thought that might have been the first time.

It happened several times after that, over the course of several months. Each time Angua did not acknowledge it, as such; it was such a tiny detail. But she remembered. And then…

It hadn’t been a murder inquiry. She might have missed it, if it had been. Blood tended to overrule a lot of other smells. But she was in wolf form, with Carrot and several other watchmen – a kidnapper, cornered in the tiny house he’d been using as a prison. Vimes had arrived on foot, out of breath – and smelling of Vetinari, which Angua registered but didn’t really think about until later. When she realised he had come from his own house, and not the palace.

It was the ball that cinched it.

Carrot had been invited along with a number of senior officers of the Watch, including herself. It was full moon, but indoors she could with some concentration fight her urge to grow hair, teeth and claws successfully. There were several rooms occupied with people eating, drinking, and dancing; it must have been relatively easy for Vimes and Vetinari to disappear for ten to fifteen minutes, despite their positions. Angua wondered if they’d given excuses or just slipped away. And when they had both returned, the Patrician had passed her whilst in discussion with someone else and she had breathed it in without thinking and –

Oh, yes. That was certain. Smelling slightly of another person was one thing. Smelling strongly of not just their outer scents (cigar smoke, for example) but their own personal brand of sweat-blood-hormones was entirely another.

Angua had kept a straight face and danced, reasonably well under the circumstances, with Carrot; and then made an excuse to leave early. But not before she had sought out Lady Sybil in the crowd – and Lady Sybil had caught her eye, and _smiled_ in a way that was almost _knowing_ but surely not –

Angua had gone to wolf and stalked the city that night, thinking.

After a week’s contemplation, not only of what she knew about Vimes but also what she knew about Sybil and what she knew about Vimes-and-Sybil, and concluding that only one part of this was her concern, she made her decision and settled herself down to wait.

~

Her opportunity came earlier than she had anticipated.

‘Captain, run these down to the palace, will you? Mostly standard stuff, needs signing off by his Lordship. Give it to Drumknott.’

‘Yes sir.’

Angua took the papers from the Commander, and headed out the door, suddenly and unexpectedly a little nervous. What if she was wrong? But she knew that she wasn’t.

Normally a captain would pass a job like this onto a junior officer, but Angua commented that she needed the walk and no one argued with her. They generally didn’t.

When she arrived at the palace she made sure that her uniform was straight and her hair tidy, and then walked swiftly and professionally towards the patrician’s study. Her uniform and the papers she carried allowed her to pass unremarked through a dozen entrances possibly fatal to genuine intruders. When she reached the anteroom, Drumknott was waiting. Angua took a deep breath, and presented her lie for inspection.

‘Commander Vimes said I was to convey a spoken message to his Lordship?’

Drumknott raised an eyebrow slightly (a pale imitation of Vetinari, Angua thought) but then gave a brief nod.

‘Certainly, Captain. I will inform him. If you will wait here.’

Angua nodded, and handed Drumknott the papers. The clerk left the room, slipping quietly and discreetly into the Patrician’s study after a soft knock on the door.

She stood, and waited. Well, she’d crossed the line now. Unless she wanted to make up some other, specious message from the Commander, she’d have to go through with it. Angua held her face still and neutral as the door to the study opened again.

Drumknott reappeared.

‘Captain, his Lordship will see you now.’

Angua took a discreet steadying breath, and walked inside.

~

It was late evening. Sybil had gone for dinner with several of her friends, a ladies-only type event. Sam didn’t mind. He shut himself in the study and waited.

Slightly later than he had expected, there was a soft knock on the window. He didn’t bother to open it, but put down the paperwork he was reading and sat back as Havelock Vetinari slipped into the room.

‘Long day, Commander?’ he said, glancing at the paperwork. But there was something in the tone; some tiny modulation in Havelock’s habitual blankness. Sam frowned.

‘What is it?’

Havelock’s expression didn’t change. But he did seat himself in his preferred armchair by the fire and focus his gaze somewhere in the vicinity of the mantelpiece. Sam knew better, by now, to push the question. Instead he got himself a cigar and joined Havelock by the fire, and waited.

‘Your Captain Angua came to see me today.’

Sam frowned.

‘She took the reports to the palace,’ he said slowly. ‘I told her to leave them with Drumknott.’

‘I am aware,’ Havelock said. Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes, remembered they weren’t in public, and then rolled his eyes.

‘The good captain asked to convey a spoken message from you to myself, which Drumknott naturally saw through. I was curious, and met with her anyway.’

‘And what was that about?’ Sam said, aware of the impatience in his tone. Havelock always did like to draw things out, and while that was perfectly agreeable for certain activities – and in fact he was hoping to get to those later this evening – this was _work_.

‘I was informed in no uncertain terms that while she held all persons involved in the highest regard, it was her duty to notify me that any less than appropriate treatment of you in the course of our relationship would be met with highly appropriate retribution on her part.’

If Sam had been drinking, he would have spat it out. Instead, he choked briefly on thin air. No point asking how she'd worked it out, but...

‘She – she – ’ Sam spluttered, desperately searching for words. ‘She can’t have – there’s not a damn thing she could hold over you –’

Havelock gave a thin little smile, the one that Sam was never sure if he should be reassured by or afraid of.

‘She stated that should I use my position to ah, harm you in any way – by which I take to mean, any way that you have not explicitly asked for – she would inform Captain Carrot.’

Sam, who had been in the middle of fighting a blush at Havelock’s reference to that particular aspect of their private life, felt his entire brain grind to a halt at the last few words, like a – like a – like something that had stopped very suddenly.

The two of them stood there in silence for a long moment, looking at each other, the facts that had never been spoken aloud echoing between them. Then, reaching the only possible consensus they could, Havelock gave a nod and Sam coughed awkwardly.

‘Well.’

‘Well.’

‘She’s a loyal officer.’

‘Of admirable courage and a very familiar type of directness.’

Sam shot him a look, and this time got the rarest of treasures – a genuine, if small, smile.

‘No sense standing here all night,’ he said gruffly, tilting his head towards the door that led, via a discreet corridor, to the spare bedroom.

‘Quite. After all, I should hate to truly distress you in any way.’ A definite teasing lilt. There was only one way to respond to that, and Sam took it, pulling Havelock into a deep kiss before breaking away just enough to speak.

‘I’d like to see you try.’


End file.
